


Expected

by hunters_retreat



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Damaged Alec, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Post Dark Angel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  "Yes Sir!"  He was expected to say and he didn't disappoint. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Expected

**Author's Note:**

> “The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken place. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure that it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry.”
> 
> -Ernest Hemingway

Blood was thick on his hands, thick in his lungs with a stench that was all too familiar.  He wanted to wipe away the red, remove the color that stained his clothes though none would ever see it.  He knew.  He always knew when they returned the clothes, which had been covered in someone’s life and which hadn’t.  He burned them always, no matter how many times they put him in solitude for it.

 

 He remembered things in odd ways, remembered faces when he didn’t want to, remembered moments like music in his head.  If he played a certain song on the piano he could recall all his missions, which was why he rarely played.

 

 He could remember being a child once.  Being a child and wanting to play and run.  He could remember it now, without the bitter sting he used to feel and part of him knew it was far more bitter without it.  He remembered their words about how his series seemed a little too soft, too kind for the work.  He remembered being asked if he could do what they asked and his resounding “Yes sir!” because it was what was expected of him.

 

The answer was no, and it has always been no, would always be no, only there was no one listening to him anymore even if he had been able to say the words aloud.

 

The first time they sent him in the field they sent back up to make sure he could do it.  He did.  His rifle fired in the dead of the night and his target went down in a red haze that wasn’t possible to see but that filled his sight anyway.  He threw up for 5 minutes before the others pulled him away from his position to keep from getting caught.  When he was back in the barracks his superiors heard about his revulsion and asked again if he could do what they asked of him.  “Yes sir!”  He was expected to say and he didn’t disappoint. 

 

When he next left the barracks, they took him on a training mission.  They gave him a gun and a line of people and told him to take his time.  He had 15 minutes to kill the men or they would open fire on the line of children watching.  He did it quick, trying to push aside the sounds of the children’s sobs as he robbed them of their safety.  He only looked back once when he heard another round of fire as he was walking away, only once because he couldn’t see through the tears that streaked his face as the second line fell.

 

When one of his series escaped, he was sent to psy-ops and they tested his obedience.  He’d always been able to give the right answer, understood the right thing to say at the right time and he muddled his way through this too.  When he was cleared for regular training, they upped it, making sure he and the remains of his series were forced into submission and compliance.  He stopped crying about the kills and started biting his lip bloody to hold them back for the living.

 

He ended up in psy-ops a total of three times in his career; once for his series escape, once for his own misconduct on a mission, and once because the escapee had become unstable.  He said the right things, gave a convincing “Yes Sir” when asked if he would do as ordered.

 

He had no tears any more.  He had no heart.  He remembered reading somewhere that the World breaks everyone.  He doesn’t know if he was broken by Manticore, or if his very nature was flawed.  It was that sort of thought that kept him awake at night, more so than any blood or loss.  He learned to bury it, but he held two lines in his head still, two lines of innocents and knew that even if he only killed one, they were all his kill. 

 

When Manticore burned to the ground he had no place to go but the girl.  He followed her because he didn’t know what else to do.  She was an escapee; she knew what it was like to live out there.  He didn’t think he needed help to survive, but he was certain he didn’t know how to live.  Still, he’d always been able to do what was expected of him.  He learned quickly and when people asked if he was alright he learned to say “Of course.  I’m always alright.”

 

He found himself in the middle of too many things, more battles that he didn’t want to be a part of.  He looked down at his hands, saw the red of another person’s blood and felt empty.  “The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong at the broken place,” he quoted, feeling the emptiness and thinking that maybe Hemingway thought that numbness to be strength.  It wasn’t, but he didn’t know anyone who would understand that the way he did.

 

“But those that will not break it kills.  It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.”

 

He looked up in disbelief, and yet if there was anyone who would be able to finish that quote it would be Logan.  He looked away quickly because suddenly there were tears in his eyes that he couldn’t explain away.   

 

They were lovers, but he couldn’t share the grief in his heart, couldn’t explain the pain he felt because numbness has always held it at bay for him.  Here, in the middle of another war he didn’t want to be in, covered in blood, surrounded by freaks that made him seem normal, he felt the tears burn hot down his cheek, rinsing away blood and shame in a soft trickle that he didn’t believe would ever stop.

 

A warm arm wrapped around his shoulder and he let himself be pulled in, felt the warm press of lips against his forehead.  “You couldn’t do anything else Alec, you had to protect us.”

 

He didn’t say anything, couldn’t through the tears so he let himself go until they finally dried.  No one else said anything, just left him to his grief.  He would feel Max close by, waiting in the sidelines to come in and save the day, only there was nothing to save.  There was only one form of salvation for him and he didn’t think he’d get it anytime soon. 

 

Logan tilted his chin up ever so slightly, forcing him to look in his eyes.  “I need to get over there.  Alright?” He asked in a voice that was comfort and compassion and knowing.

 

 “Yeah.”  Alec managed a half smile.   

 

 Logan smiled back and when he was sure Alec was going to be okay, moved over to Max and Asha and the rest of the transgenics that were helping map out the next attack.  He let them do it, let them make the plans knowing he’d be the one expected to carry them out.  Logan continued to shoot him looks over his shoulder but soon Alec was back in form and his smiles seemed to sooth Logan enough to get fully engrossed in the next phase of the war. 

 

 Logan came over one last time, searched Alec for signs of the break that he’d seen earlier.  It reminded his of psy-ops and the never ending examinations after he’d betrayed his orders for Rachael.  It made something in his back stiffen, the general looking at the soldier, not the lover looking at his partner.  “You sure you’re alright Alec?” Logan asked.

 

 “Yeah.  You know me.  I’m always alright.”

 

 And he was.  Because Alec always did what was expected. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> No idea where this came from, except that I wanted to see an Alec who was still trying to come to terms with who he had been and the life he now led.


End file.
